


Some Things Never Change

by Yendyke



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Character Death, M/M, References to Depression, Self-Harm, Sherlock Series 4 Spoilers, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-09-17 13:42:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9327275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yendyke/pseuds/Yendyke
Summary: John has lost so many things in such a short space of time. The tables have turned, and it's Sherlock's turn to look after John, with a little bit of help from Lestrade Via text.





	

**Author's Note:**

> SPOILERS FOR SHERLOCK SERIES 4

10/01/2017

Where are you? – JW

Sherlock. – JW 

Don’t make me call Mrs Hudson. – JW

Why on earth would you call her? She’s downstairs. – SH

Obviously not going to call her, wanted your attention. – SH

Sorry, at the morgue. Double homicide, both missing their left thumbs. Isn’t that fun? – SH

Yes, fun, sounds fun. – JW

John. – SH

John? – SH

Your attempt at ignoring me is less than impressive; I had a reason for not previously answering. – SH

John? – SH

I’ll call Lestrade. – SH

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _   
Lestrade, I need you to go to 221B. – SH

Why? I’m not putting the sirens on to go and get your bloody magnifying glass. – GL

No, it’s not me. John, he’s not answering his texts. – SH

Bloody hell Sherlock, he’s at therapy. His appointment started at 2. – GL

Why on earth is he in therapy? – SH

Mary. Honestly, Sherlock! His wife has just died, his baby is partially in care and he’s back with his arsehole of an ex boyfriend. That’s you by the way. – GL

Ah. – SH

Is that all I get in response? – GL

Then why would he start texting me before therapy? – SH

CHRIST SHERLOCK. – GL

Seriously, why? Please Lestrade, I need some help here. – SH 

He probably needed you, Sherlock. That’s what couples do, remember? – GL

Ah. – SH

Yeah, Ah. – GL

Sorry, Greg. Talk later. At the morgue. – SH

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _   
11/01/2017

“Sherlock, where have you put my wash bag?” John asked, walking lazily into the living room, still in his bath robe.  
“I haven’t touched it.” He replied, sat in his arm chair, with his eyes squeezed shut.   
“I must have left it somewhere.” John sighed, walking back towards the bathroom while drying his hair with the towel.  
As John left, Sherlock picked up John’s wash bag from the side of his chair, opening it up to see it’s content. Shaving foam, tooth brush, floss, razors.  
Razors.  
3 Razors.  
Two of them still in one piece.  
One broken up into smaller pieces.   
Mental note made.   
Sherlock took out all of the razors and proceeded to put them in his blazer pocket.  
“John!”  
“Yeah?”  
“Come back in here.”  
“What is it?”  
“I found your wash back. It was in the fireplace.” Sherlock said with no expression on his face.”  
“In the firepla- Right. Thank you.” He sighed, taking the bag and going to the bathroom once more to finish getting ready for the day ahead. 

Sherlock knew exactly what those razors were for. They’d lived together before. John only shaved with an electric razor. He specifically remembered John telling him that the first night they spent together as not-just-flatmates. He was worried, but with his own self destructive behaviour he didn’t know what to do.   
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _   
12/01/2017

Lestrade I’m worried. – SH

Why? You don’t get worried. – GL

It’s John. – SH

I told you, Sherlock. Therapy. He’s having sessions twice a week. He’s not going to reply. – GL

No, not that. I’ve learnt his schedule. – SH

Then what is it? – GL

He’s been cutting himself. – SH

What? Are you sure? – GL

Did you really just ask me that? – SH

Where? – GL

It’s winter, his forearms. From the way he’s been holding himself recently I’d say it was initially the top half but that caused too much discomfort. – SH

Shit. Well, should I say something? – GL

No. I will. – SH

You? You’re not good with this kind of thing, Sherlock. – GL 

I used to self harm long before I met you, while I have known you and most likely for the rest of my life. – SH

What!? – GL

Focus, Lestrade. John, not me. – SH

But Sherlock, I could have been there for you mate. – GL

You dealt with the drug addiction. Didn’t think it fair for you to deal with both. I’ll talk to John tonight. – SH   
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _   
How was your session? – SH

I didn’t say one word. – JW

Do you feel any different? SH

Can I talk about this when you get home? JW

Can you open the door? I left my keys next to the skull. – SH

“By the skull?” He muttered, looking up at the mantle piece seeing Sherlock’s keys resting next to the skull. “Of course.” He sighed.   
“Mrs Hudson let me in.” Sherlock said quietly, walking through the door to what was once again their flat.  
“Now talk. How was it?” He looked at John, before sitting next to him on the sofa.  
“do you know what, I’m really tired. I think I’m going to go lie down.” He said quickly. As john tried to get up, Sherlock grabbed John by the arm with the tiniest bit of strength.   
John winced in pain.   
“Show me.”  
“Pulled a muscle. I’m fine. Let me go.”  
“John.”  
He sighed, sat back down and rolled up the sleeve of his jumper. There were cuts all up his forearm, just as Sherlock had predicted. Some were older and slightly faded. A lot of them were new. So new they still had dried blood surrounding the area.   
“Are you happy now?” John said, with a tremble in his voice.   
“I know how this feels.” There was a silence.   
“How dare you say that. How fucking dare you say that you know how THIS feels. I have lost everything. My wife, my baby, my sanity. If it wasn’t for YOU I would still have my wife!” He screamed. 

That was it. John collapsed on Sherlock’s lap and cried. He kept crying for what felt like hours, but Sherlock didn’t say a word. He stayed there and held him. That’s all he could do. After the silence, Sherlock finally said something. 

“My first love. Died of Leukaemia. I was 16. Sister of Mycroft’s friend. You’re right. I don’t know how you feel. I didn’t watch my wife get shot- But I did see the love of my life die right in front of me. I saw it. I watched the life drain out of her eyes. And you know what? I did the same thing as you. I took it out on my own body with anything sharp I had. I’m sorry John. I’m sorry I’m the reason you lost Mary.” With a tremble in his voice, Sherlock moved away from John and started to get up out of the chair.

“It was her choice, Sherlock.” He said groggily.   
“No one made her do that. I will never see her face again. I will never hold her again.. but she kept you in my life, and I’ve always loved you. And- and I’m sorry for this, this shit. I’m too old for this..” He shivered, gesturing at his one arm with the sleeve still rolled up. 

“No, John. Self harm doesn’t have an age limit. And I’m going to help you through this, somehow. Care and affection aren’t my strong point but I’m willing to try for you.” He sat back on the sofa next to John and rolled his sleeve down for him. He let out a small cry and laugh at what Sherlock had said. 

“You’ve just gotten over a fucking heroin relapse.”  
“Yeah, but you’re more important.”  
“you’re an arsehole.”   
“I know. You constantly remind me.” Sherlock said, smiling softly at John, who was looking up at him with swollen eyes from crying.   
Sherlock lent down gently and placed a single kiss on John’s lips.   
“We will get through this.” He sighed, taking Sherlock’s hand in his own.


End file.
